Memory of Goodbye
by PlasmicFemale
Summary: Major HBP spoilers. The early minutes of Harry’s seventeenth birthday brings an unexpected surprise, from a mentor he thought would never teach him again.


_**Disclaimer: I don't own anyone, don't sue me.**_

**_A/N: Still haven't been able to get the ending of book 6 out of my head. This is my way of venting. Major HBP spoilers. _**

Harry repositioned himself in bed. His eyes remained determinedly open, despite the late hour. He moved again, not daring to tear his eyes away from the rest of his room. He glanced quickly at the clock beside him. Two minutes till midnight. He turned onto his back, staring at the ceiling. The silence throughout Privet Drive was unnerving.

His trunk was already packed, sitting alongside his bed. Hedwig's empty cage was beside it, its occupant probably already at the Burrow waiting for him to arrive, any time past midnight. He glanced at the clock again. One minute to go. One minute till he officially came of age. And one minute till his last protective shelter disappeared.

He gazed at the clock. Any second now. He threw his covers off and was about to climb out of bed, when a large flash of flames illuminated the foot of his bed. Shocked into action, Harry threw himself off the bed, his wand already in his hand. Nothing happened. The flames disappeared as fast as they had appeared, leaving behind a large parcel.

Harry paused before approaching it. On top of the brown packaging lay a single, bright feather. A phoenix feather. Harry's breath caught in his throat. He sat beside the parcel, and without further hesitation, ripped off the packaging. He froze once he uncovered the delivery.

A stone basin, covered with runes and symbols. Harry recognized it immediately. Dumbledore's pensieve. His hands shook as he touched the edge, his breathing uneven. Dumbledore. He had forced himself not to think of the events of last year, but that seemed impossible now. What was the pensieve doing here?

He ran his hand over the edge, and his fingers brushed against something else, hidden by the strewn paper. A small, glass bottle. A solid, yet liquidy substance swirling within it. A memory.

Harry glanced around his room nervously. Was it safe for him to linger so long? Surely, Voldemort wouldn't attack so soon. Just to be sure, he headed out to the window and gazed out at the empty road. Then he looked skywards. No Dark Mark. That was a good sign. Making up his mind, he seated himself back on his bed, picking up the glass bottle. Slowly, he pulled out the small stopper. Then, pausing slightly, he tipped the contents into the pensieve, like he had watched Dumbledore do so many times. The mist swirled, and Harry gazed down at it, wondering what memory it could possibly be. Then, making a swift decision, he plunged into the basin.

He landed softly, and it took him only a moment to realize his destination. The room looked exactly the same. The whirring instruments surrounding him. He glanced around. There was only one figure in the room, standing with his back to Harry, his hands held behind him.

"Harry, please sit down." Dumbledore requested. And without saying a word, Harry complied. What was going on? How could Dumbledore be here, speaking to him? "As you're probably beginning to realize, this is a memory that I created myself." He said, turning to face Harry, but not quite looking him in the eye. "I thought it better to explain things in person, if that's what you can call this." He said with a wry smile.

"Sir. . .how--" Harry began.

"Do not try to speak, Harry. To me, where you're seated is merely an empty chair." Dumbledore stated, "I am nothing more than a memory."

Harry leaned back, inwardly smiling at Dumbledore's ability to read him so well.

"If you're viewing this now, it means that I am truly gone. I made arrangements for these items to reach you in such an event." Dumbledore sat behind his desk, gazing towards Harry over his half moon spectacles.

Harry wondered how awkward it must have been for Dumbledore to record this message.

"I expect that you're still at you aunt and uncles, Harry. And I appreciate you adhering to my wish." Dumbledore said, amazing Harry more still. "As for now, I advise you make your way to the Burrow, the floo network should be safest." Dumbledore paused, then characteristically, leaned forwards and pressed the tips of his fingers together. "As for your destination after the school term starts, Harry. . ." He seemed to hesitate for a moment. "The thought may have crossed your mind not to return to school, and to continue my search for the remaining Horcruxes. If this is so, Harry. . .I ask only that you reconsider."

Dumbledore leaned back again, gazing at the ceiling. "My presence at Hogwarts, though many people believed it, was not the sole reason for its safety. There is an ancient magic that exists within these walls, Harry. A magic that will aim to protect, mores so than any other place – now that you have come of age." His gaze fell back on Harry's position.

"Hogwarts will provide a safe haven for you, Harry." Dumbledore stated. "But that does not mean that you will be forbidden from leaving the castle, should the need arise. I have left word with Professor McGonagall, who has been fully informed of our dealings, and I trust that her, and the rest of the Order, will be there to assist you." Dumbledore remained silent for a moment.

He continued to look at Harry, and Harry felt for the first time, as though Dumbledore could actually see him. "So we reach the end of our companionship, Harry, and I have a few words of advice. Remember, firstly, that the prophecy is only what you make of it. Do not place too much strain on yourself, Harry, help will always find you when you seek it. Secondly, the grief that you feel now. . .and the anger, control it, but do not condemn it. I have said it before – your ability to care is what sets you apart from Voldemort. Thirdly, Harry. . .trust in those you feel worthy of it." He gave Harry a knowing look. "But do not let your anger cloud your judgment. Those you feel unworthy now, may yet come to surprise you." Dumbledore paused. "Lastly, and most importantly, there is always hope, Harry. Always. Even at the darkest of times, hope is always there to be found. . .do not forget that."

Silence consumed them for a moment, as Harry contemplated Dumbledore's words. Then, he continued. "On a brighter note, Harry, Happy Birthday." He said, suddenly beaming. "The pensieve, of course, belongs to you now. Think of it as a coming of age present . . . though, I feel, it would have found its way to you nonetheless."

He gazed away, as though in pleasant thought. "I have no doubt that you will be a fine wizard, Harry. No Doubt." He said with a small smile. "You have taught me more than I ever taught you. And I feel," he said, amazingly meeting Harry's eye, "that the pleasure has been all mine." As he gazed gently at him, Harry felt the weight in his stomach ease somewhat. "Goodbye, Harry." Dumbledore finished softly.

"Goodbye, Professor. . ." Harry replied quietly, as a white mist began to swirl around him.

He was back in his room, seated on his bed. The pensieve was sitting before him, its contents dream-like. Harry brought his wand closer to the mist, and as if realizing his intension, the white cloud attached itself to its tip. Harry pulled his wand away slowly, and the mist coiled upwards, till it was hanging from the end of his wand in a long, thin strand. He held the small, glass bottle under it, and gently let the strand fall back into the confines of the glass. Once complete, he placed the stopper in, and watched the contents turn to mist again.

Then, sprung into action, he jumped off the bed and opened his trunk. Wrapping the pensieve and bottle in one of his robes, he placed them back inside the trunk, before closing it. Harry took intense pleasure at sealing the trunk magically, before sticking the wand in the waistband of his jeans.

Taking Hedwig's cage in one hand, and his trunk in the other, he pulled them out of his bedroom, down the stairs, and towards the fireplace in the lounge. He pulled the small sachet of floo powder from his pocket, bought specially for this moment. His escape from privet drive. He smiled despite the circumstances.

As he lit a fire in the unused space, he revised his plan. He would go to the Burrow, making sure he had the best time of his life. Then, he would return to Hogwarts, as Dumbledore had advised. He had no idea what could make Hogwarts any safer than anywhere else, now that Dumbledore was gone. No idea what this "ancient magic" might be. But Harry knew better than to contradict Dumbledore's guidance.

As he threw the powder into the fire, Harry was sure of his path. He would destroy the Horcruxes, seeking help from all that would offer it. And then, if he survived to do so, he would destroy Voldemort, who had already taken so much from him. Not because everyone expected it of him, but because he expected it of himself.

As he stepped into the bright flames and called out his destination ("The Burrow!"), Harry smiled to himself. Dumbledore was right.

Maybe there was hope for them yet.

**_A/N: Well, that was it. This was only a one shot. No further chapters, because I doubt I'd be able to create my own version of book 7. Let me know what you thought of this one. Any feedback is much appreciated. _**


End file.
